Chapter 6 - Unmasking the Syndicate
Within thirty minutes of Emma falling back into an exhausted, medically assisted sleep, the hospital room became a war room.
Vincent stood before a holographic display table set up in the adjacent suite, surrounded by his top lieutenants.
Maps of Manhattan, satellite feeds of the Teterboro airport, and bank asset trails glowed in electric blue against the darkened glass.
Marco clicked a remote, bringing up the surveillance feed of private hangar four at Teterboro.
A sleek Gulfstream G650 jet was fueling on the tarmac, its engines already whining in preparation for takeoff.
Two black armored SUVs were speeding across the tarmac toward the boarding stairs.
“Senator Vance is fleeing to Geneva,” Marco reported, his voice crisp and clinical.
“He liquidated forty million dollars in bearer bonds over the past two hours.”
“He knows Montgomery failed, and he knows Vincent Moretti has entered the board.”
Vincent looked down at his watch; it was precisely three-fifteen in the morning.
The city slept beneath a blanket of fog, utterly oblivious to the war unfolding above its skyscrapers.
“He thinks an ocean can save him from me,” Vincent said, his voice flat and terrifyingly steady.
“Shut down the airspace over the tri-state area. Ground that plane.”
“We already contacted the Federal Aviation Director on our payroll,” Marco replied with a grim smirk.
“A sudden ‘radar malfunction’ has grounded all private flights out of Teterboro for the next ninety minutes.”
“He is trapped on the runway.”
Vincent adjusted the black tactical holster over his shoulder, sliding his custom Kimber .45 into place.
He pulled on a fresh charcoal overcoat, buttoning it over his broad frame, concealing the lethal weaponry beneath.
Before walking toward the elevator, he stopped by the reinforced glass window overlooking Emma’s room.
Two female guards, armed with submachine guns beneath their medical scrubs, stood vigil beside her bed.
Emma was sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling beneath the white linen, looking impossibly delicate.
“Leave thirty men on this floor,” Vincent instructed his second-in-command.
“If anyone approaches this corridor without my personal biometric authorization, kill them where they stand.”
“Understood, boss,” the commander replied, bowing his head.
Vincent stepped into the private elevator, Marco right behind him, the metal doors sliding shut with a heavy thud.
As the elevator descended toward the subterranean parking garage, Marco handed Vincent a silver briefcase.
“Inside are the decrypted documents from the Romano trust vaults,” Marco said.
“Once Emma presses her pendant into the reader, Vance’s entire financial network will automatically transfer to her legal name.”
“She will own eighty percent of the commercial real estate in this city, including Vance’s own penthouse.”
“The money means nothing to me,” Vincent replied, his gaze fixed on the descending floor numbers.
“The Romanos gave my family honor when we were nothing but street rats in Naples.”
“Her father bled for my father.”
“I promised Anthony Romano on his deathbed that I would protect his bloodline until my last breath.”
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal a fleet of four armored Cadillac Escalades idling in the dim basement.
Dozens of armed men in tactical gear snapped to attention as Vincent stepped onto the asphalt.
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The engines roared in unison, tires screeching against the smooth concrete as the convoy surged out into the midnight rain.
The hunt had officially begun.
